


Memories of a Beautiful Melody.

by Jem (letalloursingingfollowhim)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler Fluff, Angst, Crying, F/M, Good dad Alexander Hamilton, Hamliza, Hurt/Comfort, Other, Philip is dead, Post Reynolds affair, Sad! Alexander Hamilton, Sad! Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, This is really sad, We all miss Philip Hamilton, they're trying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 01:50:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19984090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letalloursingingfollowhim/pseuds/Jem
Summary: This is set in 1801, after the Philip Hamilton/George Eacker duel. Basically, everyone is really sad. Alexander does his best to comort Angelica Hamilton and Elizabeth while really upset himself. This summary is so bad but it's really sad.





	Memories of a Beautiful Melody.

**Author's Note:**

> Yo! This is my first Hamilton work here! I think I cried three times while writing this. I had so much fun doing so though. I have three new ideas to write, but it's nearly 5am so I'll probably start tomorrow.
> 
> Enjoy!

A certain melody, with certain people, at a certain time can produce deep locked memories. Memories buried so deep inside one's mind that they were easily forgotten. But not completely forgotten. Never fully forgotten. Not even if said memory was five years ago, or nine years ago. The memory of a young boy, blond-haired and wide-eyed, and younger girl, dark hair, and a smiling face. The children with their mother, the picture of elegance in a light blue satin night gown, her brown hair pinned back off of her face, so she could see what they were doing. The memory of a wooden grand piano, a piano that adorned the front room with such elegance, that it gave off the impression of a wealthy family. The memory of a beautiful melody.

"Mama!" the boy proclaimed, excitement evident in his clear, child eyes. His voice so true and confident.

"My Dear Philip! You are doing so well. I am so proud of you, my son," the brown-haired woman smiled, her voice as rich as honey and as smooth as silk. The woman was called Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton, Philip was her child. Elizabeth gently kissed her son on his forehead; she had been sitting beside him, tutoring him in piano and French. The smiling woman had been teaching her young boy a particular tune on their piano, Philip often changing the melody for fun. But now, he had gotten it. The sweet tune that cheered up the house, a tune that provoked happiness, joy, serenity.

"And me mama, and me!" the youngest child perked up, her eyes never straying from her brother.

Her name was Angelica - Angie -, named after Elizabeth's own sister, Angelica Schuyler Church. Angelica, their youngest, was eight, had brown hair (quite an anomaly in comparison to Philip’s own blond hair, and her father's dark red hair) and was extremely outgoing. She had such a deep connection with her brother, always wanting to just watch him play piano, not choosing to learn it herself. Wishing only to learn how to speak French.

"Of course, my love!" Elizabeth beamed, leaning behind Philip to kiss Angie gently on the forehead too."I am always proud of you too, especially in your French studies. My child, you are improving so much."

A mother's love should never be a love questioned. The deep, soulful connection felt between mother and child is one scarcely anyone is able to replicate. The unconditional love and affection, the pride swelling in their hearts even at the smallest of achievement. Elizabeth Schuyler Hamilton loved her children with such love and passion as she could. The excitement she felt at the mere thought of just watching them grow up to adults, pursuing whatever they wanted, however they wanted too. The gift of motherhood was the best thing that Elizabeth had ever been blessed with. She thanked the Lord as often as possible for the wonderful children she could watch grow up. The sun shone in just a way that highlighted both Angie and Philip's face, gracing them with a ray of sun. Yes, she would be happy to grow old if she knew her children were like this if these kids were her own.

The thought of her handsome husband didn't cross her mind for a few moments until she fully turned around. There he was sitting. Alexander Hamilton. His hair tied neatly into a kempt, low queue, beaming at the sight of his wife and children. The sun had changed to shine on his face now. His face was golden and freckled. So highlighted that it felt like Eliza could reach out and count every one of the brown freckles that scattered his pale skin. Somehow, through everything, Alexander tended to maintain a well kept look. Something the woman noticed was how his cravat was always tied delicately and correctly, never falling out of place. Despite his often near persona, his hair rarely managed to stay in the delightful style Eliza so longed to see.

That had been then. 

That had been when the rays of sunlight cascaded into the ornate and serene room. When the sound of music rang out to every inch of the house every day. When simple French sentences instilled such pride in both parents. The excitement whenever they learned something new, the inability to find the words to express such pride. But that was before. But now, no matter how sunny and light the day was, the heaviness and emptiness of the Hamilton’s still reigned. No music had been played in months.

That was now.

Philip had been shot in a duel with George Eacker. He had died.

“Eliza,” Alexander hummed, his voice tentative. He took a breath, waited a few moments for a response, the name he had spoken lingering in the air. Without one, he tried again. “Betsey.” A nickname only he used; one Eliza loved.

It was late. Late to the point of pitch black. Deathly quiet save for a broken cry of a destroyed child, and Alexander’s meek voice. Sleeping stopped coming easy to the couple, ever since Philip has passed, no matter how much Elizabeth prayed to God that they could get some peace, some peace to sleep... some peace for Angie. God still never seemed to answer their prayers, however. 

Angelica had had an emotional breakdown, a breakdown that left her, truly, fully dependent on her parents, practically a child. The stress, the fear, and the sadness, it weighed down at all the Hamilton Especially with the weight of trying to care for their daughter. The idea that their child could be in an ‘’internal childlike state’’ forever made the adults hurt. They could hardly imagine how it was for her.

“Hmm?” Eliza queried, barely pulling her attention away from her daughter’s screams for Philip. The screams were so shrill, it sounded as if someone were being aggressively hurt in the next room.

“You were crying again,” Alexander swallowed, moving in closer a little. They were sitting beside each other in bed, no hope of the peaceful slumber both awaited and required. He reached a rough hand out to gently wipe away the few tears that were accumulating on the top hem of her dress and cheeks. A few months ago, Elizabeth would not have accepted that gesture, even simple gestures were forbidden. Alexander had cheated on Elizabeth, but she had forgiven him, and it didn’t seem like a significant enough thing to focus on anymore. But with no reaction, he continued, thumbing her cheeks and the bottom of her neck.

“I was?” she asked, her breath hitching slightly, her voice hoarse. The salty tears had continued, falling into her mouth. She didn’t lick them or wipe them away, she just waited for her husband to speak. She seemed so broken. So different to her usual self.

Alexander nodded. “You are,” he mumbled, as softly as possible. “I need to go check on Angie, she hasn’t stopped calling for him. She wants to show him her new parakeet.” It took only a moment for Alexander to realise he was talking about Philip like he was there, like he was going to come back. That only evoked more tears from his wife. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, kissing her on the head and getting himself out of bed. Alexander had to be strong for Eliza, for his family.

Angelica’s room was directly beside theirs. The floorboards were cold, cold and creaking. The wood was old and stained from years of being walked on. They hadn’t been replaced since the house was made, it cost too much. The short walk felt like a terribly arduous task. Simply, Alexander didn’t want to see his daughter in the state he knew he would find her.

“Philip! Philip, is that you? I have so much to tell you! Was boarding school fun?” Angie smiled and beamed as spoke, the smiling evident in her tone. It was crushing for Alexander to hear his seventeen year old daughter speak like this. With such childlike innocence and hope for her darling brother to come back. It felt like weight on his shoulders, crushing and drowning. How could he explain to her that  
he was dead again? How could he hurt his only daughter in such a way? No. No, but he had to.

”Angie... Angie it’s me,” Alexander started, his tone soft and steady.

”Oh, Pa! When will Philip return?” she asked, her voice content and joyous in her morose room.

”Angie I-“ Alexander cut himself off, walking into her wooden room, taking a seat beside her. Tears began to prickle behind his eyes, fear filling up every inch of him. “Angie. Philip isn’t coming back. Remember, my love, he is in heaven now. With our Heavenly Father.”

”Goodness!” Angelica laughed. “Why is he doing such a silly thing like that? Does he not want to come back home to us? Papa! Oh, I do have so much to tell him, you know?”

Alexander couldn’t take it. In the moment, hopelessness began to creep into the room. This was the best Angelica had been since his death. She had periods of this, the denial, the hope, the willing. But she had periods of not even recognising her family, for crying for hours. It was easier to get Angie to sleep when she was upset, and that’s what he was expecting to see her like. He was expecting the horrific crying that she had been doing mere minutes before he arrived. If she hadn’t recognised him it would’ve been easier to tell her of his passing again, it would be so much easier.

”Philip died,” Alexander had to say quickly, his words ringing in his own ears. They words didn’t feel real in a sense, even if it had been a few weeks, he refused to believe it.

”What? No. N-“. She managed to cut herself off, go from happy and joyful, the eight year old Alexander remembered, to crying again, She was crying and screaming, relentless. Like this, she was easier to handle, she would exhaust herself and fall asleep. Gentle prompting and touch from her father helped occasionally, but not always.

”My Dear Angelica, Philip is safe now, he is safe and happy,” Alexander choked out his words barely, his red-brown hair was falling out of his queue with the fact he began to find his hands down it, through his hair.

It took ten minutes for Angelica exhausted herself. Desperately did Alexander want to reach out and wipe away the many tears sporadically scattered on her neck and nightdress. But any movement could wake her. He was not risking that. Having Angelica asleep was a warm achievement that he was not throwing away.

”Say goodbye to Philip when you dream my dear, goodnight,” Alexander hummed gently, getting up back off the wooden cot, across the creaking floorboards, and back to the room he shared with his wife.

Elizabeth had been crying again, crying harder when she heard her daughter cry out. But with the presence of Alexander in the room, she felt comforted slightly. Half asleep and weary, Elizabeth reached out to the other side of the bed to up-turn the duvet for Alexander to get in. He graciously accepted, tired and emotionally drained himself. To the male, it was clear, even in the dim candle light, that Eliza had been crying. Without saying a word, he snuffed the candle flame and shrugged Eliza into his arms. Again, Alexander took position as the strong one, the one who wasn’t completely broken anymore. He was. He was completely broken, it had been so evident in the first weeks. It was easier to hide it now though, better for his family.

”Sleep, my Betsey, Angelica is asleep for now. She is fine.” Essentially, he had just answered the questions she wanted to ask. 

]Content, Elizabeth nodded, slumping into Alexander’s small frame slightly. As sleep began to pull at her, thoughts of Philip and Angie flashed. The sound of the piano, the French counting. Silly kid jokes between the children. It was what everyone longed for again, the peacefulness of it all. When everything was okay. She wanted everything to be okay. But really, the memories didn’t hurt anymore. They felt almost nice to think, an easy way to lull herself to sleep. She was safe. She was content. She was in Alexander’s arms. That was enough.

”Goodnight,” she mumbled, not quite smiling but her voice sounding lighter. Gently, she kissed Alexander on the cheek and let sleep take her into its warm grasp. Yes, this was enough, this was okay.

This wasn’t okay for Alexander, however. Even with his Betsey content, safe, and in his arms, he couldn’t avoid the floods of sadness that broke into his chest, causing him to take a gasping breath. It felt like he was drowning. Drowning in his own sadness as the tears hit, filling his eyes up with the salty liquid. Not waking Elizabeth was his main priority, no matter how upset he got, he couldn’t wake his sleeping wife. The darkness flooded all around as his tears began to fall down his pale, freckled cheeks, making his eyes red. Alexander didn’t quite know how long he cried for, his face buried deep into the mass of blankets. The only thing that then took him out of his deep sadness, was the screams of his daughter again... and the cries from his other boys. That, then, made him plunge further into the sadness that was enveloping him.

Eliza woke up at the sound of crying. Her brown hair swaying as she took in the situation.

“Alexander,” she spoke softly, the same tone he had used for her not an hour ago.

“Hush, my darling,” his voice patchy and breaking. “Let me go check on the children, I shall be fine.”

“Alex- my love -, please, allow me. Get some rest,” she kissed him delicately on the cheek, making way to stand up. However, Alexander gently pushed her back down, wiping away his tears as quickly as possible.

“No, let me,” he spoke, his tone proving that’s what he meant, no arguments.

So that’s what he did. He took a shaky breath, stepped down from the bed, and went first into James’ room. He had to do this. He had to be strong for them. But the sounds of his broken sons’ sobs, his distraught daughters cries... it was too much. The sounds of them emanating from everyone’s respective room echoed in the corridor, stabbing Alexander in the heart every-time he heard another sob or scream or call out for Philip. He had to do it.

Taking another breath, a deep, shaky breath, he turned the small handle of James’ wooden door, and stepped in. He had to do it for them. Be strong for the children for Eliza. Be strong. Oh, how he tried, tears falling as he slowly opened the bedroom door.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews would be really appreciated! Also any ideas for more stories.
> 
> -Li.


End file.
